


The murmur of half-dreams

by demigodscum



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Blood Kink, M/M, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-23 23:41:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21089747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demigodscum/pseuds/demigodscum
Summary: Jason—in him, with him, for him.





	The murmur of half-dreams

Adrenaline pumps through his bloodstream, and his heart beats faster.

Steph kisses him, and his heart beats faster.

A gun is fired too close to him, and his heart beats faster.

Dick performs some acrobatic or other, and his heart beats faster.

Every time his heart beats faster…

His left side throbs, aches, _beats_ to the rhythm of Jason’s heartbeat—

Jason’s breathing—

Jason being _alive_, next to him, over him, under him, with a blade poised between his third and fourth ribs—

Jason is alive, Jason is—over him, and his wrists are both in one of Jason’s hands above his head, and the stretch he’s in makes his back arch off the carpeting beneath him slightly, and it’s—

It’s _sweet_, like honeyed blood, candied apples, Jason’s mouth on his, warm and wet and all things good, moving and sucking, again and again until Tim is writhing between the floor and Jason’s larger body.

There’s the knife, sharp as always, dangerous as ever. His heartbeat speeds up even more, but it’s okay, it’s all right, it’s—the best it can be, because it’s Jason above him, Jason holding the knife, Jason above him whispering about love and want and need, and Tim knows all of those things.

All things good, some things painful, but he likes it that way, he _loves_ it that way, he wants—

_Jason_—

_Please—_

And the tear that slides down his cheek burns as much as the cut does, sour like lemons and bitter like the beer that Roy likes—

Jason cuts, between his third and fourth ribs, and his heart beats faster, and his heart bleeds bleeds bleeds—

The carpet is stained, now, but it doesn’t matter because Jason is there, Jason is here, Jason wants him, Jason—

Comes—

_I love you I love you I love you please_—

All over his chest, and the semen doesn’t reach the cut, and it doesn’t mingle with Tim’s blood, but it’s okay, it’s all right, it’s still Jason’s mark _on_ him, on _him_, and Tim is—

Maybe not special, maybe not unique, maybe not any of the things that he wishes he were, but that only means that he can try harder, try better.

For Jason.

_For you._  


* * *

Inner forearm, an inch below the bend of his elbow. A vertical line, parallel to his vein, parallel enough it could have been deadly. The length of his thumb, and when he folds his arms beneath the cape, he can rub it over the rough fabric of his uniform.

Red, and nice, but not _as_ red as that of his blood when it’d spilt over his pale skin.

When Tim touches it—touches _any_ of them—he feels the sensory memory of Jason’s chosen blade for that particular evening.

When Red Robin touches it, always hidden under the cape, always for himself only, he feels kevlar and imagines the blood, sees it splattering the person in front of him when he slashes down with the spikes on his gauntlet.

Underneath the cape, behind the wall of control that doesn’t let him have this, Tim touches and rubs and caresses until the part of him that _needs_ quiets down enough to let him survive it.

And then it screams, and they do it all over again.

* * *

Voices around him, hazy through the veil of need that darkens his sight.

Jason drags the blade down another quarter of an inch, and Tim drags the cape closer around them, hiding them from the others.

Only them, always them.

Anywhere and everywhere, wherever Jason wants, whenever Tim needs.

_Jason, always Jason_.  


* * *

Rough, jagged. It’s the messiest one he has. He remembers the pattern of his blood splattering the—the _asphalt_, remembers the slow back-and-forth of the serrated knife—

The slash of—

_Jason_, whispering nonsense in his ear to calm him down, but Tim hadn’t _wanted_ calm, he never does.

He always wants—

_Jason_, his hands and his touch and every sharpened piece of metal, rock, and bone he wants to give Tim, _everything, always_.

He can only reach this one when he’s sitting or crouching, never when he’s laying down on his bed, waiting for Jason and his touch and his love and his need, never when he’s waiting for more. He distracts himself with other ones in those moments, but he likes this one for the texture. Under the pads of his fingers, against the micro-fractures in his knuckles, the scar on the inside of his calf feels thick like the bullet wound in Jason’s thigh and soft like the skin over Jason’s hipbone.

Tim sits up, leans back against the headrest, closes his eyes. Goes back to the day it happened, strokes the mark. Strokes his penis, strokes the scar, strokes the ache in his chest.

Closes his eyes harder—

_Everything, always, I love you, please, please, I want you._  


* * *

In, in, _in_.

_Inside_ of him, _please_.

_In_, Jason’s cock deep inside him, and Tim wants it like he wants Jason’s lips on his back, mouthing and licking and biting at the shallow cuts spread over Tim’s skin in a meaningless pattern.

_In_, in, in, in, hard, so deep, and every time Jason draws out, Tim sobs because he’s so _empty_, so utterly alone for a never ending second. And then Jason slams back in, and Tim swears he will take an eternity of being alone if he can have _just this_ one more time. Just _this_:

Jason, bruising Tim’s hips with his hold on them—

Jason’s tongue, digging into the wound over Tim’s left scapula, prodding at it until it starts bleeding again—

The sheets rubbing against his back—

Jason’s hand around him, thumb circling the head of his penis again and again and again—

_Please, in, please, I need this, I need you, I—_

_So good._

Their sweat mixes on Tim’s back, and it stings the cuts like acid, but it’s sweet like honey, makes it better because it’s _them_, together, Jason _inside, with_ him, and he’s—

Jason pulls down on Tim’s sac until he screams, and Tim should have finished already, but he’ll keep going for Jason, anything for Jason, always Jason, never—

_In_, cock and tongue and sweat and _soul_, and Tim will never be alone again, because Jason promises to never leave, Jason promises he’ll always find him, Tim can’t _hide_, not from him.

It fills him up and in and over, fills him and expands him until he’s brimming with it, until he knows he _can’t_ take anymore and knows he _will_ because he wants it. For Jason. Always Jason.

_For you_.

When Tim comes—

_Finally, finally, not yet, please, more—_

He arches his back off the bed—

Jason sits up. Tim cries and begs and pleads—_not the cold, not away, please_—but Jason doesn’t come back, just fucks him harder, deeper, and then he slips out and Tim _can’t take it_, he _can’t_, he wasn’t _made_ for this, _please, not this, don’t go, I need you_—

But Jason spills over Tim’s back, and his come mixes with Tim’s blood, and his come is _inside_ Tim, and Tim can feel it entering his bloodstream and flowing everywhere, reaching every dark corner and void, filling him up and remaking him into something better, someone _made_ for this, someone who can _take it_ and not fall apart.

Someone made up of _Jason_, someone who is never alone.

When he rolls over onto his side, Tim sees a spot of blood on the bed sheet, and he nuzzles it until he falls asleep.

_I love you, don’t go, I need you._  


* * *

Rub, rub, caress. His finger feels nothing but kevlar and nomex, the inside of his gauntlet, but his mind can feel the sting of Jason’s blade.

_I want you._

_I want you, I want you, I love you._

_Please._  


* * *

It’s the first, it’s the best.

It’s—

Not the only one. _Not_ the only one, not—

_I love you I want you I need you_.

The blood is the darkest he’s ever seen, and Tim enjoys that, like with everything else, Jason takes first place in this.

_In_, and it’s Jason’s voice in his ear, Jason’s whispered apologies mingled with the growled threats, Jason in him with him behind him, an arm around his neck and his heavy breath brushing against Tim’s left cheekbone.

_Please, more, for you, always, please_—

The tears that stream down his face burn, and his insides burn, and his neck burns where the blood ebbs out of his jugular, where the batarang cut him—

Years ago, not tonight, _always, please_—

It burns and it aches and it hurts the way it always hurts, the way it always does when he’s alone.

But he isn’t alone, Jason is here, Jason is _inside_, Jason is _always_ inside—

Pushing deep, pushing hard, pushing pushing pushing until Tim just _has_ to take it, until there is no saying _no_—

He would never say no, never to Jason, always Jason—

_So deep—_

_I love you I love you I love you, more, please—_

Jason, alive and there, with him, _for_ him—

And Tim just has to take it, Tim _wants_ to take it, wants everything Jason will give him and everything he won’t. Tim will let Jason carve him up over and over and over until Jason craves Tim as much as Tim craves Jason.

_I need you, please, more—_

The blood flows, slithers down to pool over his collarbone, spills more and runs down his chest, down his abdomen, down down to wet the hairs of his navel, down some more to gather on the base of his penis. And then Jason—_yes, yes, please, more, please_—smears it all over until Tim’s skin is painted red from his hipbones to the head of his hard penis.

Red like the color of Jason’s domino, red like the color of Tim’s heart as it beats faster and faster.

And Jason’s hand around him is so good, so tight, so—

_I want you, always you, always you, please_—

It’s Jason all around him, Jason all the way inside him, Jason in his mind and his soul, and Tim could never, ever be alone.

_Don’t go, please_.

_Not the only one_—

_For you_.

_Yours_.


End file.
